


breathe in the stardust and feel yourself become whole

by AsunaChinaDoll



Series: honey and wildfire are the same color [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Beaches, Din Djarin Is a Sweetheart, Family Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Healing, I know nothing about SW lore, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Introspection, Light Angst, ManDadlorian, Mando'a, Parent-Child Relationship, Precious Baby Yoda, Protective Mandalorian, Recovery, Sequel, Vacation, but you all totally wanted, i love them sm, just a smidge, momentarily but I figured I'd tag just in case, the beach fic no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22784590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsunaChinaDoll/pseuds/AsunaChinaDoll
Summary: It's low tide.Sea shells that have survived the constant battering of the ocean litter the shore for miles. With the suns baking the surface, the open stretch of land reeks of hot salt, even penetrating the filters of his helmet. Sweat beads roll down his neck as he follows the child inch by inch, his boots crunching on shells. They've been exploring for a few hours now, the child trilling happily with every new find.He doesn't think he's seen the child this happy.---After the close call with Veir, the Mandalorian and the child decide to take a vacation.This is a sequel toand even if we're galaxies apart? darling, I'll be there to catch you
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: honey and wildfire are the same color [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1569829
Comments: 65
Kudos: 267





	breathe in the stardust and feel yourself become whole

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost, I would like to say: WOW!!! The response to the first fic in this series was absolutely incredible and I can't believe how much love it got. I can't thank you all enough for your continued support, you guys are too amazing <33333
> 
> Also, I highly appreciate your patience in regards to this fic. I had started this even before I posted the first fic, but as we all know, life gets in the way and this fic did not want to be barfed onto the page either. BUT! I am happy with the result and I hope it lives up to it's counterpart. Enjoy :DD
> 
> A reminder! This fic is a sequel so I would highly recommend reading the first part of this series before diving into this one. If you have read it and need a little reminder (or are just too lazy to read the first part haha), here's a quick summary of what happened before: The Mandalorian and the child end up at an inn for the night, against the Mandalorian's wishes. Turns out, it was a set up, and the Mandalorian gets drugged while Sallo Veir, the second in the guild, takes the child to deliver to the Client. The Mandalorian stopped at nothing to get him back.

The Mandalorian had never been one for vacations. 

Once the remnants of panic and stress-fueled adrenaline had flushed out of his system, sore muscles presented themselves, and his entire body felt stiff and weighed down by weariness. Every little action felt like he was dragging, and there were injuries hiding beneath his bodysuit that needed attention. 

He observes the child from the corner of his eye as he mans the ship, not wanting the child out of his view for even a second. The child's intelligent eyes roam past the transparisteel dome of the cockpit, looking at the stars and planets dotting the black void of space. The child coos every now and then, but the Mandalorian can tell it's… lacking, almost. Not as bright and cheerful sounding as before. The Mandalorian urges to fix it.

A vacation doesn't sound so bad.

"What do you think, _ad'ika_?" He asks the child, glancing over his shoulder to the makeshift bassinet. "How does a vacation sound?"

The child perks up at his voice, looking up from his metal toy ball. The child babbles something unintelligible, his grin wide and sincere. The Mandalorian can't help but soften.

"I'll take that as a yes."

* * *

In the past, after a particularly rough job and the Mandalorian didn't feel like returning to the Covert, he would find an isolated spot on a remote planet and park the Razor Crest for a few days time. It allowed him a chance to heal, to rest, and to gain back some strength.

He had only been to Ithor once before, when he wasn't as familiar with the intricacies of Guild work and had broken several ribs. What struck him the most was how peaceful the planet's small, clustered islands were, bright green patches against deep turquoise waters. The child does well with peace, and he hopes Ithor will provide a safe haven for a little while.

As the feet of the Razor Crest touch pink sand, the second sun is edging towards the horizon, lacing everything in its path with a soft gold, the sky bathed in rich oranges and reds. The child makes intrigued chirps as the Mandalorian powers down the ship, flipping all the switches and pressing buttons. The Crest groans as it works to shut down all its systems before slowly weaning into silence. The Mandalorian makes sure the ship’s night mode is engaged before he stands from the pilot's seat. He turns and lifts the child from his seat onto his hip above his utility belt. The child tilts his head curiously as the Mandalorian descends from the cockpit to the lower deck.

"We'll go outside tomorrow," the Mandalorian says as he turns into the small alcove holding his cot, a metal slab attached to the wall with several wool blankets layered as bedding. "For now, dinner and sleep." 

The child hums his agreement. The Mandalorian is slightly surprised at the child's wordless cooperation. Bedtime isn't something the child enjoys and it always takes him a few rounds of gentle rocking while trailing aimlessly around the ship to put him to sleep. The child must be tired, he thinks. 

He places the child on top of his cot before rummaging through his supply crates for the child's dinner. He pulls out a ration of dried frog legs, smiling slightly at hearing the child's adorable happy squeals at seeing his treat. The Mandalorian tears open the seal and hands one leg to the child, who takes it and immediately shoves it into his mouth. 

" _Ad'ika_ ," he says, a disapproving cadence to his tone. The child looks almost sheepish before he starts munching slower.

The Mandalorian turns back to the supply crate and grabs himself a ration bar. He sits down next to the child and removes his helmet before digging into his own dinner.

When they finish, the Mandalorian tosses the food wrappers before starting the process of removing his armor. It is a monotonous ritual performed through muscle memory, setting aside each piece of beskar at the foot of his cot. The child watches, cooing softly as he sheds the last piece. He inhales, feeling significantly lighter and vulnerable without the familiar weight of the beskar wrapped around him like a safety net.

Tiny, blunt claws grip at his thigh and he blinks, looking down at the child. The child gurgles, his dark eyes wide and bright, and the Mandalorian doesn't bother suppressing a small grin.

"C'mere, womp rat," he murmurs, picking up the child. The child doesn't protest. The Mandalorian starts to tuck the wriggling child against his arm but the child surges forward, small fingers grazing his jaw. He pauses, the physical contact causing a flutter in his stomach as the child coos, reaching towards his face. 

Tentatively, he adjusts the child further up. The child coos again, resting a tiny hand against his cheek. The Mandalorian's breath hitches, hyper aware of the soft, three digits slowly trailing down across his jawline. The child giggles at the feeling of a scruffy beard against his palm, and the Mandalorian relaxes slightly at the noise. 

The child moves his hand up, patting his guardian's nose, and the Mandalorian scrunched it playfully, eliciting another giggle. Tiny claws brush against his lips, and he doesn't quite know what possesses him in the moment, but he leans forward and presses a kiss into the child's palm before blowing a raspberry. The child's eyes become alight with joy, the corners of the child's face filled with wrinkles as he breaks out into a round of laughter. It fills the Mandalorian's chest with a sickening type of sweetness, and he breathes a laugh of his own. The child lifts his other hand to him, urging for the same treatment, and the Mandalorian does it again despite the way his cheeks burn.

The Mandalorian continues to play with his child for several minutes, getting lost in the peels of laughter filling the cabin. He thinks he may be spoiling the child, keeping him up past his bedtime, but he allows one more laughing fit before reluctantly calling it to an end.

"Alright, now it's bedtime," he says, lowering the child into the crook of his arm. The child seems disappointed that playtime is over, a whine building in the back of his throat. "No, none of that. We'll play again tomorrow, after we've both rested."

The child pouts, but then lets out a big yawn. The child blinks watery, black eyes before turning, snuggling up right against his chest. He feels himself stiffen awkwardly, the small body against his own something he's not used to without the barrier of his chest plate. The child coos, content and happy in his place. His heart positively swells at the sight, and he adjusts his hold as the child burrows into his shirt.

After some maneuvering, he removes his gloves, setting them on top of his armor pile. He slowly sways them from side to side, the soothing action causing the child to yawn again before he presses himself closer against his ribs. He smiles softly, brushing his finger along the curve of the child's cheek. 

" _Nuhoy_ , _ad'ika_ ," he murmurs lowly as he continues to rock the child. The child starts to squirm, seeking a desirable position. He is not satisfied until his ear is pressed parallel to the Mandalorian’s chest. The Mandalorian isn’t sure how the new position is comfortable, but after another few minutes of rhythmic swaying, the child's breathing becomes deep and even with sleep.

He exhales a sigh of relief. Slowly, he stands, gritting his teeth against sore muscles, and walks over to the child's crib. He bends over, shifting his arms to lower his child into the crib.

But the child doesn't move. 

He blinks, seeing his shirt firmly grasped between tiny green hands. He sighs. He attempts to remove the child, trying to gently pry little fingers from his shirt. The child doesn't budge, and he makes a disgruntled noise in his sleep.

There's a gnawing feeling at the base of his skull, like acid eating away at his flesh, and the Mandalorian stops fighting. There is a part of him that says to make the child sleep in his own place, if only to avoid feeding clingy behavior. 

Another, louder part of him refuses to set the child down. He presses his lips into a thin line before turning and heading back to his cot. The child subconsciously clings tighter to him and he feels acid along the edges of his heart. 

Not for the first time, he thinks that guilt does funny things to people. 

He would never say it aloud, but the close call with Veir rattled them both. Like a looping holotape, all the decisions he made run through his mind over and over. What he could have done differently, the mistakes he made, how easily he could have prevented it from even happening in the first place by not accepting the meal. 

He secures his grip on the child as he lays down on his cot. He shifts until he's lying on his side, his spine pressed against the wall, curled protectively around the child. _He's so small,_ he thinks, his heart clenching. 

He pulls up the blanket, adjusting it until the child is encircled in a nest. The child remains unstirred, snoring softly as a line of drool exits the corner of his mouth. The Mandalorian's lip twitches. 

The sharp pang behind his sternum is abrupt and immediately sobering him of the intimate moment. Looking at the child is a rather painful reminder of what could have been. 

Of everything that happened, he continues to stutter over the few seconds he thought he lost. When the electric shocks tore at his skin and Veir's blaster was pressed against his throat, and he was powerless. Defenseless. Useless. No one was coming to bail them out. He had failed the only thing that mattered and it was his fault. 

It was undeserving of him, he knew, but he had allowed himself the luxury of mourning during those few seconds. Mourning for the child and the life he'd never be able to lead. Mourning for himself for not being able to watch the child lead it. 

_I'm sorry, ad'ika._

His heart feels heavy as he stares at the child, gently trailing his fingers along the child's floppy ears. He needs to sleep, but the thought that the child won’t be there when he wakes up plagues him, keeping his eyes from shutting. He takes a breath as deep as he dares with the child against him, his tongue thick in his mouth. He brings a hand behind the child's back.

He doesn’t sleep.

* * *

He has learned that the best time to care for himself is when the child is distracted. It is why, while the child is still asleep, he slips away to the small refresher tucked into the furthest corner of the Crest.

After stepping out of the sonic shower, he puts on a clean pair of pants before grabbing his medkit. The list of injuries he sustained during his encounter with Veir is, thankfully, brief and easy to take care of. Electrical burns run along his torso and arms in blistery red, dry patches. They make their presence known when he moves too sharply, but it isn't anything he can't handle. 

He props the kit up on the edge of the sink and idly shifts around the contents, debating whether to use the bacta patches or the small container of bacta gel. A moment passes, and he picks up the container. 

The Mandalorian clenches his teeth as he applies the bacta gel to his burnt skin. He smears a thin layer against the biggest burns, conscious of his limited supply. Once satisfied with his work, he puts the container back into the medkit before depositing the kit to its place. 

He slips on a new undershirt and after a quick examination of himself in the mirror, he turns to exit the refresher. The door slides open and he's about to step out when a brown, sack-like figure catches his eye. He pauses, dipping his chin to see the child by his feet, wide-eyed and ready to take on the day. The child coos in greeting.

"You should be more careful," he replies, not unkindly. Scooping the child up against his waist, he says, "I almost stepped on you."

The child gurgles in response, clutching the sleeve of his shirt. He huffs an airy laugh as he moves them further into the cabin. There's another gurgle, this time coming from the child's stomach. He glances down, seeing the child staring up at him. The Mandalorian quirked his lip.

"I got the message. Breakfast first, and then we can go outside. Sound good?"

The child chirps his approval.

It doesn't take long to prepare breakfast. The Mandalorian heats up their food in a matter of minutes in the Crest's kitchen, though it could hardly be called a place to cook a legitimate meal, considering it's a floor-to-ceiling cabinet with a single heating unit and sink. It does the job though, so he can't complain. 

Momentarily, he thinks about cooking an actual meal for the child and himself and sitting at a table together to enjoy it. He imagines the meal made with all the spices of a traditional Mandalorian dish. The fiery heat in his mouth would be good and nostalgic, and he'd watch on in amusement as the child sniffs at the dish curiously. Most likely, the child would find it too spicy and reject it, the visual making the Mandalorian breath a chuckle. 

The loud beeps of the heating unit break him away from his thoughts. He pulls out the child's food and places it on the makeshift table, the child immediately digging in.

The child shoves handfuls of re-hydrated potato mash and shredded meat jerky into his mouth. He babbles happily as he eats, and the Mandalorian is glad, even if he does cringe at the mess he'll have to clean up later.

With the child distracted, he makes quick work of his own breakfast. The child is slowing down his bites just as the Mandalorian is putting his plate and fork in the small sink. Opening the cabinet, he pulls out a cup, holding it beneath the faucet until it’s full. He brings it to his lips—

It all happens in a simultaneous blur. 

The cup is torn from his grasp, water splattering across the metal grates as the cup slams against the far wall with a resounding thud. The Mandalorian's hand is already grabbing for his blaster, eyes scanning frantically for the enemy as his muscles tense.

The room is dead silent, save for the way blood pounds in his ears. 

After a few seconds, the Mandalorian senses no immediate threats and forces himself to relax, lowering his blaster. He turns his head to the child. His breath gets caught in his throat. 

The child has his hand outstretched towards the far wall, his eyes blown wide. He's hunched over himself, his tiny chest heaving from the sudden spell of power. Then, the child moves to meet the Mandalorian's gaze. There's fear in his dark eyes. 

Fear for him.

The child's eyes water and a tiny whimper escapes him as he reaches for his guardian. The Mandalorian's chest feels tight as he quickly reholsters his blaster and is at the child's side in two strides. He picks up the child, not minding his mash-covered hands as he cradles him close to his chest. The child buries himself as close as he can, clinging desperately to the Mandalorian.

"Oh _ad'ika. Cyar'ika_ ," he murmured pitifully, rubbing comforting circles into the child's back. Somehow, the child presses himself even closer. His heart aches.

"It's okay. It's alright. _Gar morut'yc. Mhi morut'yc._ " 

The Mandalorian exhaled slowly as he paced the length of the cabin, continuing to murmur comforting words to the child. 

Once the child had calmed down, he slowly pulled away from his guardian's chest, blinking up at him almost shyly. The Mandalorian tries his best to smile in a reassuring manner, gently grazing his fingers over the child's wrinkled forehead, then across a long ear. The child relaxes. 

The Mandalorian glances over to the linear puddle of water leading to the cup on the floor, seeing it had rolled a bit sideways. He needs to address what happened with the child. 

Instead, he says, "Let's get some air, kiddo."

* * *

The suns shine brilliantly, the rays warm against the Mandalorian's back as he strolls across the sand. The child sits on his shoulder, a small hand against his helmet for balance. The child babbles cheerily as he soaks in his surroundings, his big ears flopping in the cool breeze. The cup incident seems forgotten.

The roar of the ocean is all encompassing, a steady rhythm like a heartbeat. They watch the white caps of the waves roll into themselves before crashing down against the pink sand, unrelenting and beautiful. The child makes a low coo in awe and the Mandalorian hums in agreement.

"Not too bad, huh, _ad'ika_?" He attempts to poke the child's side, but the child catches his finger, squeezing it. He exhales through his nose before tilting his helmet towards the sea. He says, "Why don't we check it out for ourselves." 

He steps forward, the sand soft and loose beneath the heel of his boots. The child chirps curiously as the Mandalorian gently grabs him from his shoulder perch and lowers him down to the ground. The child is immediately enamored with the wet sand beneath his bare feet, wiggling his toes and clapping excitedly. The sight is absolutely adorable and it tugs at the Mandalorian's heartstrings.

Then, the child takes a handful of sand and attempts to shove it into his mouth. The Mandalorian is quicker, dropping to a knee and grabbing the child's wrist, wiping the sand crusted on his little hand.

"No," he scolds, his tone firm. The child pouts. "We do not eat the sand." 

Suddenly, the water surges upwards, barely reaching their feet, but the child jumps back in surprise. The Mandalorian places a steadying hand across the child's back.

"'S just the water," he assures, patting the child's head before standing to full height. The child blinks, inquisitive gurgles leaving his mouth as they watch the sea foam edge recede. 

The Mandalorian turns his head to the side, taking in the shoreline that stretches on as far as the eye can see. Not seeing another soul in sight confirms the feeling of isolation in the salty air. Good, he thinks, the privacy is exactly what he was looking for. 

The wind whirls around them like a blanket, his cape snapping with each influx. He rolls his neck slowly, and he sighs as the breeze catches on the lip of his helmet. With the warm sun on his back and the salty air filling his lungs, a rare sense of calm washes over him. 

The peaceful atmosphere is quite reminiscent of Sorgan's krill ponds and sunlight filtering through the trees. His mind drifts to the village and its determined, hard working people. He sees Omera, her smile kind and hands nimble and calloused. He sighs. 

He hears a loud squeak, breaking him out of his thoughts, and he whips his head towards the source. The curious child had walked towards the ocean in his lapse of competence and his eyes widened with realization. All he can do is watch as the white jaws of the ocean fly above the child's head.

"Oh _kriff—_ "

He sprints forward in a blur, berating himself for being a terrible parent, as the wave engulfs the small child. His heart flies into his throat.

Salt water splashes up his pant legs in his haste, but he doesn't notice, swooping down and grabbing the child from the water's clutches. The child splutters and spits as he tucked him against his arm. The child is sopping wet, excess water pouring down the Mandalorian's arms and chest plate.

He swore under his breath as he stalks out of the water, grabbing his cloak and wrapping up the child as best he can. The child blinks several times, his expression unreadable passed the shock. The Mandalorian continues to scold himself as he wipes away salty droplets from the creases of the child's face. He grimaces, steeling himself for a crying outburst.

The child doesn't cry. The thought seems to cross the child's mind briefly, barely holding back the little screws of his face as a natural first response to the unknown. The child mewls lowly, getting his bearings. The child sneezes loudly, once, twice, three times and _oh stars he's gonna get sick and it's all his fault—_

The Mandalorian's spiraling is interrupted by a high-pitched squeal. He startles, looking down at the bundle through his visor as the child laughs, clapping his hands together.

The Mandalorian lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, sagging at the relief coursing through him. He stares at the child in a bit of a daze. 

"You are going to be the death of me, _ad'ika_ ," he mumbles fondly, shaking his head. The child grins.

* * *

The child blinks awake. Dark eyes try to inspect his surroundings, but the whole alcove is pitch black. He cocks his ear, listening, when he hears the deep breaths of his father sleeping beside him.

The child is tempted to follow the pull of sleep, but he finds himself waiting. Listening. He hears the comforting heartbeat of his father, his breaths loud beside him. But his breaths sound… funny.

Stirring, the child perks an ear higher towards the source. It quickly becomes apparent how heavy and labored his guardian's breathing is. The child reaches out, feeling stretched blankets. He moves forward, following the blankets like a guide, until his little palms press against a warm body. 

The child feels his father's back twitch sharply, but he doesn't wake up. There is a strained, strangled noise from the back of his father’s throat before it peters back to heavy breaths. The child lets out a concerned coo, his hands gently gripped at his father's sweat-soaked shirt. 

The child deducts that his father must be having a nightmare. The child can sympathize with how terrible they can be. 

He, too, suffers from night terrors, but they were worse before he had met his father. Reality blurred into his dreams; faceless monsters with unkind hands, grabbing him too roughly, knuckles colliding into his sides, loneliness carving a permanent home in his little rib cage. He'd wake up sobbing, yearning for comfort, even though he knew nobody was coming.

Everything hurt. 

He had felt so _alone_.

He _never_ wants his father to feel alone.

Taking a breath, the child closes his eyes. He reaches out to the Force, sensing it meeting him halfway, reuniting like old friends. The child directs the Force through him with practiced ease, channeling it to his father, willing him to feel warm and safe. Like how he makes the child feel.

As the seconds pass, the child senses a rush of peace flow over his guardian, and all his afflictions disappear without a trace. The child hears the almost inaudible sigh of relief from his father as he fully relaxes down against the cot. The child feels his knees wobble, and he slumps down atop the ruffled blankets as the Force retreats from him. 

Satisfied with his work, the child dazedly shuffles back beneath the blankets. His eyes close of their own accord and he drifts off, his heart fuller than it has been in a long time.

* * *

The suns in the afternoon burn hotly, the inklings of gold beginning to line all the edges of the planet as it shifts from afternoon to evening.

The child plays contentedly in the sand, tossing bits into the air and watching it rain down on his little sand structures. The child babbles to himself the whole time, speaking aloud all the lines of dialogue for the fantasy in his head.

The Mandalorian has been content to watch, occasionally adding a fistful of sand to top off the child's sandy hills. He sits with his ankles crossed, deep in thought as he observes the child for any signs of fatigue. 

The child had overslept. The Mandalorian awoke that morning physically better than he had been in a long time. He knew the bacta gel he applied wasn't that miraculous, but it didn't click until it was well past mid-morning and the child continued to sleep. The Mandalorian had to restrain himself from waking the child in his worry, busying himself by polishing his armor.

The fact that the child healed him wasn't surprising, but it didn't sit right in his chest. He is the adult, it is his responsibility to care for them both, the child taking first priority. He could deal with a few bumps and scrapes and an empty stomach as long as the child is happy and unharmed. 

It is honorable. It is the Way. 

"...Hey, kid," he calls gently. The child looks up, pausing his game. The Mandalorian bites his inner lip as he collects his thoughts. The child tilts his head, letting out a low, patient coo.

"You healed me, last night," he starts slowly. The child blinks, and he decides to take that as a yes. "You know you don't have to do that." 

The child's ears raise and lower, and his wrinkled brow creases in confusion.

"I don't know your past, and it doesn't matter. But—" he draws a breath, keeping his gaze on the child as he begins waddling towards him. "I don't keep you around because of your… powers. You are strong, but you tire out quickly. I don't need you passing out because you used your powers on me. It's not safe." 

The child places small hands on his thigh, and the Mandalorian lifts the child into his lap. The child's intelligent eyes never leave his visor, like he can see right through the helmet. For all he knew, maybe he could. 

"I'm supposed to be taking care of you, not the other way around. Please, don't do that again." 

The child frowns at that, and he looks almost put out. The Mandalorian sighs. 

"You're not in trouble, _ad'ika_ ," he states. "The kind of life we follow is dangerous. I'll get hurt sometimes."

The child's frown deepens into something sad. It makes his chest ache, but it is better to be realistic rather than ignorant. The child sets his palms against his chest, staring up at him, pleas swirling in those dark eyes. The Mandalorian swallows dryly.

"I'll try not to get hurt," he promises. "There are no guarantees though. And I don't want you to pay for my mistakes. Do you understand?" 

The child starts to babble something unintelligible, but it is clear that the child is trying to argue.

"I know this may be upsetting, _ad'ika_ , but I don't need you to agree. I need you to listen."

The child flounders for a moment, but unable to truly voice himself, he deflates with resignation. Instead, he burrows himself into the Mandalorian's chest, blunt claws digging into his shirt. He sighs, wrapping his arms around the child.

"I know," he murmurs. "I wish things were different." 

The child squirms, trying to pull himself up, and the Mandalorian brings the child to rest against his collarbone. The child nestles his face underneath his helmet, hugging his neck.

_"Vor entye,"_ he whispers, "for healing me." 

The child pulls away, looking at his visor. He presses a green hand against the dip of the beskar, where his cheek is. The child smiles.

_You're welcome._

The Mandalorian smiles back.

* * *

It's low tide.

Sea shells that have survived the constant battering of the ocean litter the shore for miles. With the suns baking the surface, the open stretch of land reeks of hot salt, even penetrating the filters of his helmet. Sweat beads roll down his neck as he follows the child inch by inch, his boots crunching on shells. They've been exploring for a few hours now, the child trilling happily with every new find. 

He doesn't think he's seen the child this happy. It's like the kid is in a candy store, eyes filled with stars as he inspects every shell he comes across with pure, sweet curiosity.

"Ah!" The child exclaims, lifting a shell for the Mandalorian to see.

"Yes, I see it. It's very nice," the Mandalorian replies for what felt like the hundredth time, smiling softly. The child's eyes twinkle, lifting the shell higher as a coo leaves his mouth. In response, he says, "My pockets are getting full, _ad'ika._ "

He bends down anyway with his hand cupped. The child places the shell into his hand with more care than any other child has. The Mandalorian stands back to full height, taking in the bright purple and fluorescent blue stripes making up the spiral of the shell. He pockets it and follows the child, already waddling along to his next find.

* * *

The Mandalorian doesn't think he's been on a walk in decades. He's used to moving with purpose, determination in every step. Following the child along the shore with no destination in mind is a new development, but not unwarranted.

The water rushes over his bare feet, cold and refreshing, as he watches the child run ahead as fast as his little legs can carry him. The child is squealing as he leaves little footprints in the dark magenta sand, sprinting towards a flock of birds searching for their lunch. The Mandalorian smirks in amusement as the child rambunctiously disrupts the flock, watching as the birds scatter into the sky. The child stops in his tracks, fascination in his eyes as he observes the flock make their escape. 

"Having fun, _verd'ika_?" He asks as he steps up beside the child. The child turns his head to him, his ears lifted and eyes bright, babbling cheerily. The salt water brushes their toes. 

“I see,” he muses. “I don’t think the birds realize you want to be their friend. Here—” he swoops down and grabs the child, lifting him above his head and settling him atop his helmet. The child gasps excitedly, and the Mandalorian tightens his grip on the brown garb as the child lurches forward, small hands reaching into the sky. The birds swoop over their heads, but they avoid the grabby child. The child doesn’t seem offended.

“There we go. Now you’re taller than me.”

The child squeezes his finger, black eyes fixed above him. The Mandalorian breathes a laugh before moving forward with a little more care in his step.

* * *

It starts with one word. 

_Ad’ika._

It had just slipped out, the term rolling off his tongue with shocking ease as he addressed the child. The Mandalorian was surprised at himself when he first used the term, to the point he had physically pulled back. It was too intimate for a child he barely knew, let alone that he slipped into Mando’a, the fading language of his people. But the term stuck, and the child had quickly come to accept that the title was meant for him. 

The child understood far more than his deceiving physical age let on. So, alongside Basic, he slips in words in Mando’a. Little words, spoken in a soothing, gruff voice with a small weight cradled against his chest. 

_Abiik._ Air.

_Ca’tra._ Night sky.

_Pitat._ Rain.

_Vhekad._ Sand.

_Beskar’gam._ Armor.

Mando’a followed by Basic. A small tradition aboard the Razor Crest. He can’t put a name to as to why he started, but the child seems to bring it out of him.

“Ah!” The child points excitedly as crabs scurry across the sand. The flashlight attached to the Mandalorian’s helmet only wavers slightly as he observes the crabs’ quick movements. 

“There’s a lot of crabs out tonight,” he says. “They come out to find food.”

The child’s silhouette turns towards his voice, the edges of his form gently aglow with the moons’ light. 

“K-Kah?” The child attempts. They will have to work on pronunciation at a later time. The Mandalorian nods with understanding anyway.

“ _Kai’tome,_ ” he completes, voice gentle. The child nods. 

There is movement by the child’s robe, and the child looks to see a small crab, about the size of his green palm. The crab is illuminated in the bright circle of light from the Mandalorian’s flashlight, frozen from being caught by the two strange visitors. The child silently stares down the crab with curious eyes. The crab stares back, unflinching. The crab starts to run off, until the child throws out a hand. The crab floats back into the spotlight, about to be placed into the child’s palm. 

“ _Nayc,_ ” the Mandalorian speaks up. The child looks to him, his lower lip jutting out. “Put the crab down. He doesn’t like it.”

Reluctantly, the child starts to obey, when a much larger crab appears, claws open and primed for attacking. The child jumps back in surprise, releasing the tiny crab from his invisible grip. The small crab slides easily beneath the body of the large crab as it steps over it’s baby protectively, pinchers still out in warning. The child is gripping his pant leg with unease. The Mandalorian hums in thought.

Any time is a good time to learn.

He points to the baby crab.

“The baby crab is an _ad’ika,_ ” he says. The child’s ears perk at his voice, listening. He continues, “The big crab is his _buir._ ”

He points again and repeats the terms. The child seems to grasp the new knowledge. The child hesitantly points a claw towards the baby crab.

“Ah,” he distinguishes. Then, he points to himself. “Ah?”

“Yes,” the Mandalorian agrees. A swell of pride blooms in his chest. 

The child gestures to the larger crab. “Boo,” the child says lowly, testing out the new word. Then, the child lays his palm on the Mandalorian’s leg. 

“Boo,” the child states. 

The Mandalorian reels, everything in him coming to a screeching halt as something inside him ignites aflame. He’s frozen still on the outside, taking in this child and the complete trust shining in his big eyes. It’s almost dizzying. The Mandalorian swallows around the lump in his throat. 

The large crab must sense the strangers mean no harm, and it quickly scurries back into the night with it’s child in tow.

After a few moments of listening to the wind blow by, the Mandalorian clears his throat. He tries his voice, hoping it doesn’t sound anything but steadfast.

“Let’s call it a night.”

He pulls the child into his arms and starts heading back to the Razor Crest. 

* * *

He does not remember much from his childhood before his _cin vhetin_. Long ago had he packed away all of those memories, folded them up into a little box, locked with the key thrown away, and shoved into the deepest part of his conscience. It was easier to become numb; it kept the tsunami of grief at bay. 

Instead, he had thrown everything he could into becoming a _Mando'ade_ , pushing passed his limits into any challenge that presented itself. Looking back, it wasn't the healthiest of coping mechanisms, but he managed. 

There were moments though, where memories would resurface on their own, and he let them play out. They weren't much anymore, just flashes. Long, dark hair, his mother's kind eyes, her hands combing down a particularly stubborn lock of his hair. His father's soft spoken voice, a calloused hand patting his bony shoulder. 

Those remnants of his past life were dyed in yellow and encircled in warmth, care laced into every brushing of skin, love evident in their smiles. If he was being honest with himself, they got him through the rough times, when he felt like an outsider among the Mandalorian people. 

He could only hope to all the stars in the galaxy that he could give even a fraction of that to the child. 

He isn’t one to believe in something as frivolous as destiny, but somehow, he had landed himself a child of an unknown species with strange, mystical powers with absolutely no experience or previous desire to become a parent. It was a split-second decision, one born of blood curdling guilt, knees digging into the ground with a plea for repentance after committing a sin. He knows it does not erase anything he’s done; that is something he will carry with him for the rest of time.

But the split-second decision was as easily made as inhaling breath into his lungs.

If he had any say in it, he’d make the universe give the child someone much more capable of giving him everything he could ever need. A happy, quiet life, in a small corner of the galaxy, completely oblivious to the dangers that have been constantly lapping at his little feet for who knows how long. Someone he could love unconditionally, and someone who would reciprocate just as fiercely.

And for some reason that only the child knows, he chose Din Djarin.

It was the way the child had said it, in his tinny voice, with such conviction and earnest eyes.

_Boo._

_Buir._

_Father._

Rational thought had overcome his personal feelings. 

_I can’t be this child’s buir._

~~_Why not?_ ~~

_Your job is to return him to his people._

~~_And I can’t be that for him?_ ~~

_Stay focused. Don’t drag the child down with you._

~~_But I love him._ ~~

Oh stars, that was the most daunting part. Finally, truly admitting to himself just how much he cares about this child. How far he would stretch his soul for him. How he would burn down the entire universe without hesitation if it would keep the child warm.

And maybe it was the way the child had said it. Like it was a fact, something precious, something to hold close to your heart. It enabled that feeling in his chest, right behind his sternum, an ember to a tank of gasoline, until his whole body was numb with its glow.

_You’re just being selfish._

Maybe he was. 

But the child in his arms chose _him_ to look at like he hung all the stars and planets in the sky. It felt good. It felt _right_.

Yes, he knows, he is selfish. 

At this point, he thinks he ought to be.

**Author's Note:**

> Mando'a translations, in order of appearance:  
>  _Ad'ika_ = child, little one  
>  _Nuhoy_ = sleep  
>  _Cyar'ika_ = darling, sweetheart  
>  _Gar morut'yc_ = you're safe  
>  _Mhi morut'yc_ = we're safe  
>  _Vor entye_ = thank you (I accept a debt)  
>  _Verd'ika_ = term of affection, meaning "little soldier"  
>  _Nayc_ = no  
>  _Buir_ = father/mother/parent  
>  _Cin vhetin_ = fresh start, clean slate; term indicating the erasing of a person's past when they become Mandalorian  
>  _Mando'ade_ = Mandalorian
> 
> \---
> 
> Mando: I don't deserve this green bean. He is too good, too pure. I will only taint him with my inadequacy.  
> Also Mando: *foaming at the mouth* GET BACK HE'S MINEEEE
> 
> Godddddd I adore these boys sm TvT
> 
> Kudos/comments are extremely appreciated <333
> 
> P.S. I has a [Tumblr](https://asunachinadoll.tumblr.com/) pls come yell at me about these precious boys. I also has a [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/dollchinaasuna/) yell at me there too ples


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